My Name is Maryse Rae
by YoullJustHavetoDeal
Summary: My name is Maryse Rae Winchester, and I help protect the human race, because you all suck at protecting yourselves.
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay, I posted this a LONG time ago and deleted it, because I update too slow and yeah. Now, I forgot how to upload, so I was very embarrassed when all of my paragraphs were taken away, and I had the first chapter published with no paragraphs. #ew. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and you don't think it's too extremely cliche. I tried to make it a little different. (:**_

_**Each chapter will start with a memory or flashback of Maryse and Sam and Dean as they were growing up (at least for the first story in the series - the first season). Some of the memories or flashbacks will relate to the chapters, some will not.**_

_**I don't own Supernatural.**_

**C-H-A-P-T-E-R**

**1**

_Maryse - 7 _

_Sam - 13 _

_Dean - 17_

_John glanced back at the two of his younger kids as he drove. Rae was sleeping soundly; Sam was wide awake and looking out the window. Right when he turned back to look at the road, a defiant voice came from the back. _

_"Dad, why are we going to Jack's? Rae just probably had a nightmare and—" _

_"We're going, because I said so, Sam," the man replied. His eldest, Dean, looked back at Sam, giving him a warning look to tell him not to start an argument again, but the look was in vain. _

_"All I'm saying is that Rae is seven," he snapped, "Kids have nightmares, and this is probably one of them. Jack is probably fine." John almost chuckled at the fact that Sam called Rae a kid, and had it not been for the disrespect, he would have. _

_"Sam, when I say we're doing something, you do it. No questions," John ordered. He gave a relieved sigh when his son didn't try to continue the fight._

* * *

I woke up to a sharp sense of uncertainty. It was a powerful feeling, something in the pit of my stomach, making me feel indecisive. I had no idea what I was possibly trying to decide, which caused me extreme confusion.

I laid there in the hotel bed, listening out for his breathing. It wasn't there; he wasn't there. I turned over in my bed to see an empty bed across the room, heavily veiled by the darkness of night.

Where was he? Should I go find him? He wouldn't have gone off to hunt alone, would he?

Slowly, I got up out of the bed, my body's tired reluctance protesting. Even though I may have wanted to curl back up into the pillows and find sleep once more, I knew I needed to go look for him. It wasn't often that us Winchesters left the motel room without so much as a note. I sluggishly threw on a pair of sneakers and walked to the door of the motel room, grabbing a key and a handgun on the way out.

Once I stood outside, I slipped the key into the pocket of my sweatpants and the gun (after clicking the safety on) in the band. I then took note of the black Chevy in front of me.

So Dean hadn't left. He was still at the motel, but the new question was where? I looked up and down the gum-clad sidewalk that wrapped around the building, almost missing the silhouette standing in front of the vending machines at the end of the sidewalk under the stairwell.

"Dean?" I called.

He looked up at me and tilted his head to the side, probably wondering why I was even up. I walked towards him, feeling my sloppy, long braid slap against the skin in between my shoulder blades each time I took a step, and when I reached him, he surprisingly didn't question my presence. He only asked, "Did you want anything?"

I shook my head, taking a small and quick glance at the dirtied glass over the probably stale chips and candies within the machine. "Nah, I'm good," I answered. Then I turned back to him. "Could you not sleep?"

Dean brought his hand to the slot of the machine to slip dollar bills in and paid for whatever he was about to get. "I slept," he told me as he pressed the buttons and retrieved his food, "I just got a phone call."

"Oh." I started to follow him as he turned towards our room and began to walk. "Was it Dad?"

"Yeah, but I didn't pick it up in time." We'd reached the motel room and he pulled a key out of his pocket, beginning to unlock the door.

"So…did he leave a message?" I asked as he swung the door forward and walked in. I followed and grimaced at the musky scent of the room. I had grown accustomed to it when I was asleep and in here before, but now, the smell was fresh and pungent. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, considering that I'd been living in motels like these since I was eight months old, but it still got to me for the first minute or so of breathing it in.

"Yeah," Dean answered, walking towards the table and taking out his gun. He set it on the table along with his room key and grabbed his cell phone. "I want you to listen to it. There's an EVP."

I walked past Dean to my bed and pulled the gun I'd picked up out of the band of my sweatpants near the small of my back. I placed it under my pillow and then walked back over to Dean, setting my key down on the small table. "Alright," I said, gesturing to the small phone in his hand with a head nod.

My father's voice broke through the dark silence that was in the hotel room, and with it, came an obnoxious rustling noise. It made it hard for me to hear what my father was saying, yet I was still able to hear the nearly-absent whispering noise in the back ground. Sure enough, there was an EVP, not that Dean would have been wrong, anyway.

"I want you to clear it up for me before we leave for California," my brother told me, and my eyes shot from the phone to his face. I nodded my head, but still asked, "Can I go back to sleep for right now though?"

I heard him chuckle before he nodded, and I walked back over to my bed, kicking off my black and white sneakers. Then I quickly hunkered down in the scratchy yet welcoming covers, and I was asleep not two minutes after shutting my eyes.

* * *

I stared at the computer screen, waiting for the cleared up version of the EVP on Dean's voicemail to sync into his phone.

"Hey, did you hear me?" my friend's voice said from the other side of my phone.

I shook my head at myself. "No," I said, "Sorry, Austin, I—"

"It's okay, Ris," he chirped in that cheerful way of his, "I was just saying that at least you heard from him, ya know?"

I sighed and continued, "Yeah, it's good that I heard from him but a voicemail with a creepy EVP in the background isn't all that promising." The laptop gave a little _ding!_ signaling that the sync was finished. I tucked my cell between my shoulder and my neck and unplugged Dean's phone, setting it nicely across the table from me. Then I reached for my partially hidden phone and held it to my ear once more.

I could hear Austin's breathing on the other end. He was trying to think of something positive, something other than what he'd said that one time when I got a B— on my algebra test and flipped. He'd leaned over towards my desk and said, "Hey, on the plus side, you don't turn into a ravenous dog three times a month."

I'd so eloquently responded with, "No, I just have my period for a week."

So, now, when the monotone sound of his breathing stopped, I was expecting the words before they reached my ear. "Hey, at least you don't turn into a ravenous dog three times a month."

I let a small smile slip across my lips and chuckled, when I heard the doorknob being jiggled. Dean was back. "Hey," I said to Austin, "I gotta go. Dean's back, and we're probably gonna be hitting the road now that I got this EVP cleared up. I'll talk to you later."

"Alright," he said, "Bye, Ris."

I hung up and stood to go open the door, but Dean was already waltzing in before I could make it halfway there. He had a bag of fast food in his left hand and was slipping the key in his pocket with his right. "Oh, thank God," I said as I doubled my pace towards him and grabbed the bag of food.

Dean gave it to me and continued into the room towards the table where the computer and his phone sat. "Did you get it?" he asked me.

I nodded while opening the tin foil that was wrapped around my burger and said, "Yeah, click play and you'll hear it." He did and a voice came from the speakers, saying the ominous message that had completely worried me earlier.

_"I can never go home."_

Dean gave me a questioning look and then asked, "Did you put it on my phone?"

I nodded, a mouth full of burger keeping me from responding verbally.

"Alright, get your stuff together, Tiger. We're leaving."

That got me to hop to. We were going to get Dad, and that made me relieved. I knew he was alive. I could feel it. If he was dead, I would be aware; I wouldn't feel him, his presence.

I choked down the rest of my hamburger, trying to get a move on. Even though my clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, and brush were already packed — anticipating us leaving, I had packed early — I still had to get my computer and the rest of the weapons around the hotel room. I closed my computer and pulled the charger from the wall, knowing the old dinosaur had turned off. It wouldn't stay turned on unless it was plugged to a charger and the charger was plugged into an outlet, but I didn't really mind to be honest. Dean was the only one that minded; he said it took up too much time, having to go to a motel or something. I started for the various weapons around the room: knives, handguns, one sawed-off shotgun, and lastly, salt. After throwing them all into a duffel, I made my way out to the Impala to wait for Dean, who was packing the last of his things.

"How did you get packed so fast?" he asked, walking towards the trunk of the Impala where I stood.

"I packed before you got back. I assumed you'd wanna be off for Jericho ASAP," I replied, saying the acronym as if it were a word.

He opened the trunk and tossed his duffel in, throwing me a glance. I put my bag and the weapons in beside his bag. "We're not going to Jericho, not yet, anyways," he told me.

I scrunched my nose in confusion, watching as he closed the trunk. "Then where are we going?" I asked. I started to panic a little at the thought of not helping Dad right away. I was about to insist on the importance of us getting to Jericho, and quickly, when Dean said something that mad me smile despite the circumstance.

"Stanford."


	2. Chapter 2 - Ep1P1

**_So I'm having a lot of issues with uploading. Oh my gosh. I don't know how to get the paragraphs right. I've tried double spacing and no._**

**_I don't own Supernatural._**

* * *

**C-H-A-P-T-E-R **

**2 **

_Maryse: 11_

_Sam: 17_

_"You're really going to college, Sammer?" I asked my older brother. He was on the computer, looking stuff up for a project._

_"I want to," he replied, picking up a few of his notes that had been scrawled across scrap pieces of paper. From what I could tell, it was a science project, and I knew Sam liked doing it; he'd always liked things that had to do with science. He stopped for a moment and looked at me. "Do you think Dad will let me?"_

_I hesitated for a moment. Would he be upset if I told him the truth? Dad would never let Sam go. I didn't want Sam to go either. There were so many things — monsters — out there, and without anyone else around to help protect him, he could get hurt. Yeah, Dad had trained us very well, but still…_

_"Come on, Rissy, I already know the answer." I sat there for a moment and then hesitantly shook my head. With a grimace, he went back to his project._

_"I don't want you to go either, Sammer. It's scary out there."_

* * *

"Crap, Dean!" I hissed as my older brother oh so gracefully tumbled through the window. If there was anything that Dean wasn't good at, it was being stealthy. I had no idea why he'd insisted on scaling the walls of the building — which, I might add, was ridiculously trying — and climbing through one of the windows, but we were failing at the whole purpose of doing so. We were supposed to be quiet, undetected. And why were we failing?

Because one of my older brothers is a bull, and my other older brother's apartment is a china shop.

"Dean, I have to pee, so if you do not get out of my way, I'm landing on you."

Once Dean had finally moved his fat self out of the way, I pulled myself up onto the windowsill to a crouched position. Then I carefully made my way through the opened window, one foot at a time. Once I made my landing, I gave Dean the "OK" sign, and he nodded, starting through the house. I had no idea what our plan even was or where he was even going. I mean, if we were able to sneak around until morning, did he just want to wait patiently in the living room, making ourselves at home on Sam's furniture?

I followed him silently, keeping as quiet as I could, until I realized we were wandering aimlessly. Then it hit me. "Dean?" I called in a hushed voice.

"Yeah?"

"Are you looking for a beer?"

"What do you think?" he replied.

With that, I shook my head and began to do some investigating myself, maybe look for the kitchen for Dean? A bathroom for me? The apartment was dark, but my eyes had begun to adjust, and I noticed the curtain of beads in front of me, separating two rooms. Carefully, I peeled the beads open and walked through, finishing the feat by twisting around and closing them silently. I hadn't taken five steps when the clinging of beads sounded behind me, and I cringed as Dean's heavy footfalls sounded throughout the room. I gritted my teeth, pursing my lips, and placing a finger over them, and as I turned to look at Dean to show him the signal, a force barreled into me.

A yelp escaped my lips as I fell to the ground, mentally chiding myself for not being alert. I kicked violently and swung my fists at my attacker, and they grunted. Before they could react any further, their weight was torn off of me, and I was immediately back on my feet, sputtering a little and wondering how I hadn't relieved my bladder during the whole attack. Dean and the person had begun fighting, working their way into another room. It was then that I realized the attacker was probably Sam. I recognized the fighting technique, not to mention we were in his home. Before, I hadn't been given the luxury of questioning who my attacker was.

I followed them as they moved into a different room and crossed my arms, smirking. It was like old times when we all used to train together, and it brought memories of my first few training sessions at six years old. I remembered always rooting for whichever one of them I was getting along with. Those were the good old days…

A thud coming from the two combatants caused my head to whip in their direction and my time of reminiscing to cease. I chuckled a little as I heard Dean say, "Whoa, easy."

"Dean?" Sam said, looking between the both of us, pants prominent between each word, "Ris? You scared the crap outta me."

"That's 'cause you're out of practice," Dean replied.

I snickered a little when Sam brought his foot up, using the momentum to flip Dean over and gain the upper hand. "Or not," I said, smirking a little.

I could almost feel Dean roll his eyes at the two of us when he said, "Get off me."

With that, Sam leaned back on his heels, lending Dean a helping hand. Dean stood up while Sam asked, "What are you guys doing here?"

"Well, Dean was looking for a beer, and I was looking for a bathroom," I answered, a smirk across my lips.

Sam turned towards me, his eyes widened. "Ris, you look so different!" he exclaimed, seeming to have just now noticed the changes becoming a teenager had given me. I was slimmer than I was the last time he saw me, and my hair was longer and a darker blonde. It was almost a dirty blonde now, whereas it used to be a light blonde. I was also taller, reaching about 5'4". But even though I knew it may have been a lot to take in — I mean, a lot changes in four years — I still had to go to the bathroom.

So, to answer my brother in the most polite way a tired and grumpy Winchester could, I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, it's called puberty. Where's the toilet?"

Both Sam and Dean began to chuckle when the light suddenly cut on, bringing their laughter to a silence. My eyes turned towards the entryway to the room, and I saw a girl standing there. She was slim and tall, which was perfect, considering Sam was a giant.

"Jess," Sam said, "Hey…" He paused and looked at Dean and I. "Dean, Ris, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

I smiled at her and gave her a small wave as she took a step towards us. She had a confused look on her face, but then recognition swept over her features. And she smiled, as if proud of herself, as she said, "Wait, your siblings, Ris and Dean?"

I nodded, but before I could say anything, Dean cut in with, "I love the Smurfs." At first, I was confused, but then I followed Dean's gaze to Jessica's shirt. It had the smurfs on it, very faded, showing that she'd worn it a lot. It was only in that moment that I noticed she was only in a crop top and underwear, and I immediately felt embarrassed for her. How awkward would that be? Walking into your living room to see two complete strangers while you were in your underwear?

"You know, I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league," Dean continued. Jessica just gave Dean an almost disbelieving look, and I rolled my eyes.

"Just . . . let me go put something on," she said, beginning to turn away.

Dean's eyes widened a tad, "No, no, wouldn't dream of it —"

"Dean, leave her alone," I said, rolling my eyes dramatically.

Dean rolled his head around, a grin still plastered on his face, and said, "Anyway, I gotta talk to your boyfriend here about some private family business, but uh…nice meetin' you."

I cut in once again then, saying, "Uh, can someone please tell me where the bathroom is?"

Jessica's expression changed from embarrassed to understanding in a second, and she moved to the side of the walkway, gesturing towards the hall behind her. As I made my way past her, she pointed to one of the two doorways in the small corridor. "The light switch is on the left, behind the door, so you have to close it before you turn the light on. I'm sorry; I know it's weird, but-"

I cut her off. "It's fine," — I smiled — "I can manage." Then I walked towards the bathroom.

I entered the pitch black room and closed the door behind me, becoming encased by the darkness. Then I felt the wall that had previously been behind the door to find the light. It took me about a minute of molesting the wall to find the switch, and it was one of those flat ones, like a button, so that made it even harder to locate. When the light turned on, I found myself staring straight at the mirror, and a hideous face staring back at me from over my shoulder.

The mutilated, yellow-eyed image flickered, and I tensed up immediately, my hands going into fists. In seconds, the image disappeared, burning its surprised and irritated expression into my mind. I quickly turned around, looking over my shoulder. There was nothing there. The demon had vanished, had it even been there in the first place. I shook my head, and blinked my eyes a little. I hadn't had enough sleep lately anyway. Usually, I ran on four hours, but lately, with the disappearance of my father, I'd been running on two. I had never even seen a demon with anything but black eyes also. It was just my imagination. Demons didn't _have_ yellow eyes.

I rubbed my forehead a little, mentally scolding myself for letting my imagination get to me and then went and continued on with my business. Once I had relieved myself, I washed my hands and left the bathroom, turning the light off by awkwardly bending my arm around the wooden door. I made my way back to the living room to find it empty.

"Oh, Maryse!"

I turned around to look into the lit bedroom to see Jessica sitting on the bed, looking at me. "Yeah?" I said.

"Your brothers told me to let you know they went outside to talk and-"

I shook my head, folding my arms across my abdomen. "Do you mind if I stay in here instead of following them? I'm sure one of them will come back in to get me." I really didn't want to hear the two of them fight right now, and I was sure that was what was happening out next to the Impala at this very moment.

She nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Sure, I don't mind."

I grinned and took a few steps towards the door way, unfolding my arms and leaning against the frame. "So, are you and my brother planning on getting married?"

Jessica blushed immediately but smiled, her pretty blue eyes shimmering. "I don't know; I hope so," she said. My grin widened. She and Sam were clearly in love, and if they got married, I would have a sister, the first ever female figure in my life.

"I hope so too," I replied, still smiling.

"So I hope your dad's alright."

I felt my gaze harden and immediately tried to fix it so as not to make her uncomfortable. I couldn't, so I just looked away. "Yeah, I do too," I said, keeping my blue eyes trained on the hard wood.

"Are you three going to look for him?" she questioned.

I looked up at her and nodded. "Of course, why wouldn't we?" I asked, perplexed at her question.

She, in return, seemed taken aback at my question. "Well, most people would just file a missing persons report," she answered, as if it were the most obvious solution to our problems.

I was about to respond with something cool like "we aren't most people," but I heard the front door open. I turned around to see Sam walking in.

"Dean's waiting outside," he told me, still approaching Jessica and I. As he passed me, he said, "Backseat." I grinned a little, realizing that he was saying he was coming with us, but then my grin quickly became a grimace as the realization of having to sit in the backseat registered.

I turned around once more to see Jessica and waved. "Bye, Jessica. I'll see you soon!" I said, smiling warmly.

She waved to me also and replied politely with, "Bye, Maryse. Hopefully we'ltalk again soon."


	3. Chapter 3 - Ep1P2

_**Hey, I apologize for this chapter taking forever, but I've had more time to write recently, so I should be updating more often than not. I don't like cursing, so there won't be foul language in my fanfictions. I apologize if cursing is what makes the fanfiction for you. Whatever. I hope you all like this chapter. I think it's kind of boring. It'll pick up a little in the next chapter.**_

_**Thank you so much for reading (:**_

_**I do not own Supernatural.**_

* * *

**C-H-A-P-T-E-R**

**3**

_Maryse: 3_

_"Daddy?" I walked out of the bedroom of the hotel room and to my dad. He was sitting at the table, writing in his book._

_"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, setting his pen down and turning towards me._

_"I had a bad dream," I answered, a tear making its way down my cheek. I would have normally woken Sam or Dean up if my dad wasn't here, but he was here and he could help me._

_He furrowed his eyebrows, turning in his chair and holding out a hand to me. I took his hand as he asked, "What was it about?"_

_"There were people," I said, sniffling and wiping away my tears with the back of my hand, "like the person I saw on the way to school today."_

_"What do you mean?" he asked, pulling me up to sit on his lap, his face serious now._

_I pursed my lips and shook my head. The people. They were so scary, with their crinkled and cut faces and their black eyes. They were trying to kill me, they were going to get me._

_"Rae, I have to know what they looked like," he said._

_My lip quivered as terrifying images flashed in my mind, and I buried my head in his chest, clutching onto his tee-shirt. "They had cuts all on their faces and black eyes, and-and they were trying to hurt me Daddy. You weren't there. Dean and Sammy weren't there. They were going to kill me."_

* * *

One nap, a bag of Funyuns, an explanation, and three arguments (one over Sam's and my seating arrangements, another over Dean's and my music preferences, and the last over the nickname "Sammy") later, the three of us were sitting in the Impala, making our way towards Jericho, California. Sam sat in the front, and I was still a little peeved about the whole thing: Dean telling me to suck it up and that I was the youngest so I had to give up my seat, Sam telling me that the back seat was more comfortable anyway and that he would sit back there if it weren't for his monstrous size (okay, so he didn't use those words _exactly_), and me being demoted to backseat ownership. Needless to say, I grumbled quite a lot for an hour or two.

"Alright," I heard Sam say from _my_ seat, "so there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue, so that's something, I guess."

I looked up from my book and trained my eyes on the back of his head. I knew Dad wasn't hurt or dead; I would have felt it.

For as long as I can remember, I've been abnormal when it comes to . . . well, being a human being. I've always been able to see demons for their true form, and it's terrifying. The things are probably my biggest fear. When I was young, I told Dad about it, about the monsters with black eyes I saw in every day people. To say he freaked is an understatement. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, hearing him researching my "sight" (or whatever he called it) like a mad man, and he would constantly keep an eye on me, especially times after I had a nightmare about someone we knew. Those nightmares would sometimes come true. Then, I didn't understand that what I was able to do was considered dangerous, I only knew it was scary and different. Thankfully, because of me thinking it was scary, I never told Sam or Dean about it, and Dad, being Dad, never told them either. A few months ago, though, I gained another strange ability: I was able to feel if something was wrong with someone in my family, and if Dad or Dean grew angry, even if it wasn't at me or had nothing to do with me, I was immediately angry. This, I did tell Dad and Dean about. We still don't know what's going on with me. It's weird.

"Check it out." This time, it was Dean's voice drawing my attention.

I looked out the left side window as we pulled over, the Impala rocking back and forth as its wheels rolled over uneven gravel. A whole bunch of police officers were crowded around a small blue car on a bridge. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that this all probably has to do with our case," I said, staring at the scene in front of us.

"Probably," Sam replied.

I watched Dean move out of the corner of my eye, reaching towards the glove compartment. _Oh, this is gonna be good,_ I thought as I turned to watch Sam's expression. His eyes bugged out of their sockets as Dean pulled out the box of ID's to set it on his lap and rifle through. He pulled out the ID he was looking for and closed the box, leaning over Sam once more to put it back in the glove compartment.

Dean sat back up straight, looking at Sam. "Let's go," he said.

If Sam's eyes could've gotten any wider, they would have fallen out. They both exited the car and I chuckled a little, bowing my head back down to my book. I hadn't been allowed to use fake ID's yet, because of my age, and I didn't really mind. I wasn't quite ready to go to prison at sixteen.

* * *

The crickets chirped and the putrid smell of the rushing water below us occasionally wafted up to the top of the bridge we approached. I scrunched my nose in disliking and kept my eyes trained on Sam and Dean as they walked a little ways in front of me. We had found out different things about the victim in the strange crime scene from two girls around town, one of which was the young man's girlfriend. They talked of a girl who had been killed on Centennial Highway and now haunts it. We went to the library after that and researched, finding that a girl hadn't been killed, but had committed suicide after murdering her children by drowning them in the bathtub. Now, we were back to the bridge where, coincidentally, the crime scene had been, along where the girl — Constance Welch — had jumped and killed herself.

As hunters, we didn't quite actually believe in coincidence.

"So this is where Constance took the swan dive," Dean mused, walking to the edge of the bridge.

I grimaced, leaning against the railing beside him to look down at the black water below us.

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asked, settling in to the right of me and sandwiching me between the two. I looked up at Dean, wondering the same question.

"Well, he was chasing the same story, and we're chasing him," Dean answered, backing off of the railing. I shifted on my feet, returning my gaze towards the water. I hoped we were on the right track to finding Dad. I missed him a lot. A little after he went missing, I left about 25 messages on his phone and called him about 30 times until I finally realized that he wasn't going to be picking up and answering me. It worried me.

"So now what?" I heard Sam say, breaking my thoughts and causing my attention to be drawn to my now-walking brothers.

"We keep digging till we find something," Dean said over his shoulder, barely audible against the sound of rushing water below us, "It might take awhile." I huffed, tired of and worried because of the situation we were in.

Sam straightened himself a little, and I turned to look at him fully. He looked like he was preparing himself for a bomb-drop. "Dean, Ris, I told both of you. I gotta be back by-"

"Monday," I finished, pursing my lips once the word escaped. I nodded, disappointed (as I'll always be when it came to Sam leaving us) but somewhat understanding. He had a life at college, a life that he _liked_. Not like hunting.

But Dean didn't seem to get that, turning around to face us and responding with, "The interview… Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? What are you gonna do? Become some lawyer? Marry your girl? Live some apple-pie life?" I felt Dean's irritation, his hopelessness, and I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to push out the intrusion of his feelings.

Sam raised his arms in a sort of exasperated way. "Yeah, why not?"

"Does Jessica know the truth about you?" Dean shot back.

"No, and she's not ever going to," Sam said, finality clear in his tone. He took a threatening step towards Dean, and I cringed, anger now flowing into me. A fight. They were about to start a fight, right here, on a bridge that a ghost was probably haunting, while we were trying to find our father.

"Well that's healthy," Dean said sarcastically, his eyes flickering with a sort of mocking light. "You know, you can pretend all you want, Sammy," — he shrugged, turning away — "but sooner or later you're gonna have to face up to who you really are." Dean started to walk away, Sam and I trailing behind.

"And who's that?" Sam spat, speeding up his pace.

"One of us," Dean said, making a proud movement with his arm to gesture between him and me.

Sam tried to get in front of Dean. "No," he said, "I'm _not_ like you. I'm not gonna do this with my life." I sighed audibly, trying to maybe get their attention back onto the situation at hand — finding our MIA father. They couldn't save this fight, this stupid insignificant thing for later? Anger started pulsing through me, and I knew it was just because of these two fighting, but I didn't care.

"You have a responsibility," Dean replied to Sam, ignoring me. Sam finally got in front of Dean, and the two stopped, facing each other.

Sam glanced at me, but then focused on Dean. "To Dad?" he questioned, "And his… Crusade? If it weren't for pictures, I would barely even remember what Mom looked like. And Ris, without the pictures, she would have no idea what she looked like, because she was _six months old!_ What difference does it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone, and she isn't coming back."

The next thing I knew, Dean was grabbing Sam by the collar and shoving him up against one of the metal frames on the bridge. The tension that had been growing for the last few minutes was now at its peak, making the air feel so thick I felt like I couldn't breathe. I didn't only feel anger now; I felt hurt, and it killed me. "Don't talk about her like that," Dean said after taking two deep breaths, his voice barely above a whisper.

I flinched a little at his tone, the fire that had begun in me burning out. I always thought Dean sounded his angriest when it was obvious he was trying not to blow up, and even if he kept his voice at a quiet volume, it was still unsettling.

Something white caught my eye in my peripheral vision, bringing my attention away from my brothers and to the other side of the bridge. I turned my head and was faced with an image of Constance Welch standing on the bridge's frame, staring right back at me.

"Guys," I said, my tone urgent.

I heard Dean release Sam roughly.

"Guys." My tone became more stern.

"Wha-?" Dean started.

The ghost fell forward, as if she was reliving her death, but I knew that wasn't it. We knew that wasn't it. She was haunting Centennial Highway, not caught in an eternal loop of her death. This was a show. She was haunting _us_ right now.

The three of us started sprinting towards her. The rushing water beneath us seemed to drum in my head as we reached the other side and looked over the edge. There was no sign of the ghost, which meant she was either back on the highway or back on the bridge. Both caused a chill to run up my spine, a chill that still hadn't gone away in my twelve years of knowing about this crap.

"Where'd she go?" Sam said, seeming slightly exasperated.

"Where do you think?" I said right as the engine of the Impala roared — _purred — _whatever.

Sam and I both turned to Dean. "Who's driving your car?" Sam asked.

Dean, his expression dumbstruck, then reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys.

Constance.

I turned my eyes back to the shiny black car, and it started speeding towards us, the tires screeching for emphasis. My eyes widened and my breath hitched. I was about to be dubbed the name Skidmark.

Instinctively, I turned on my heels and started running, adrenaline pumping through my veins and my heart hitting my ribs with a force I was sure would break them. Ghosts, werewolves, no problem. Outrunning speeding cars? Not so much.

Worry hit me like a ton of bricks, though, when I realized that I couldn't hear other feet hammering against the bridge over the sound of Baby's engine, the rushing water, and the blood pumping through my veins. I quickly looked over my shoulder, fear growing as I dreaded the sight my gaze could be met with, but there were my brothers, catching up with me. Their strides doubled mine, and they were fast. They-

I felt my Converse hit the tip of a board on the bridge and I quickly got off-balanced. Dean caught my left arm, preventing me from being roadkill, and then shoved me towards the side of the bridge.

"What-?!" I yelled, but I was already going over.

I tucked myself into a ball. Constance had died jumping off of this bridge. I could die. I had to protect myself somehow, and cannonballing into the shallow river seemed like my best bet to me.

I felt my body slice through the cold water, encompassing me in what felt like the frequent freezing showers I took when the hot water at the hotels didn't work. But then I felt something weird, something _gross_. It was mushy and all over my right side, including my face. I almost let out a sound of disgust, but I kept my mouth shut, reminding myself that I was not only under water but in something disgusting feeling.

I shook my head a little, releasing all of my hair from the heavy substance, and then raised my head above the water. The small waves created by the flow of the river beat against my face and the cool night air made me feel like I was lying face down in snow. Wanting to be free of the icky stuff on my face, I let the water splash me for a moment, removing most of the mud and whatever from my skin. Then I stood all the way up, hearing Sam's voice call to us from the bridge.

"Dean! Rissy!"

I looked up, standing waist-deep in the river, my Converse seeping deeper into the mud, and waved to let him know I was alright. I heard a squelching sound from a few feet away and looked over to see Dean pulling himself onto the bank.

"Hey!" Sam said, "You alright?"

Dean held up an OK sign and a cheesy grin spread across my face. This would be something to remember.

* * *

"One room please."

Dean placed the credit card on the desk, and the elderly man picked it up, studying it. I grimaced. One room. I'd probably be sleeping in the Impala tonight, depending on if there was a couch or not in the room, Sam using the argument that I was smaller again. Yeah, he'd been using that argument for a _long_ time.

"You guys havin' a reunion or somethin'?" the man asked, looking at the three of us.

"What do you mean?" I asked, scrunching my eyebrows in confusion.

"There was another guy — Bert Aframian — bought out a room for the whole month."

I looked at Sam and Dean for a moment, knowing what they were thinking. "I'll be right back," I said before turning to go back out the door. I needed to get something to pick a lock with out of the Impala. Whatever Dean had probably fell out in the river.

I walked out to the Impala and opened the passenger side door, leaning in and going for the the glove box. I started digging around in it, past all the usual stuff and going straight to the bottom. Paperclips and junk always fell down to the bottom. Quickly, I found a bent paperclip. We must have already used it for picking a lock somewhere. I grinned in victory and then closed the glove box, backing out of the Impala and closing the door behind me. I walked around to the back seat and opened it, reaching for my duffel on the floorboard. I unzipped it and grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants, a white cami, a red and blue flannel, and underwear. Then I turned to see my brothers walking towards a hotel room.

"Hey!" I called, and they both turned to look as I held up the paper clip.

The both responded with a grin, Sam adding a thumbs up. I made my way over to them and we walked towards our destination, which I guessed was Dad's hotel room.

I gave Sam the paperclip once we reached it, because he was closest to the door, and he started to swiftly pick the lock, Dean and I standing there. I could tell he was trying to "look natural" but really, when did Dean ever look natural?

A small snort escaped me at my thoughts, and Dean gave me a weird look, and I only chuckled a little more until I felt a hand grab my jacket and yank me inside.

The room was filthy. Salt made a circle around the unmade bed, different papers having to do with the case lined the walls, and a half-eaten burger sat on the cluttered bedside table. It looked like he'd left in a hurry.

Dean walked over to the lamp next to the burger and turned it on, lifting up the burger and sniffing it. "I don't think he's been here for a few days, at least," he said, looking back at me and Sam.

Sam bent down to touch the ring of salt. "Salt, cats-eye shells, he was worried."

My stomach dropped. He was worried; _Dad_ was worried.

Dean walked over towards the wall of papers, and Sam followed as I stood dumbstruck by the door. He couldn't be dead. I would have felt it. I would have known. I would already be mourning. He had to be alive. If he wasn't . . .

I shuddered at the thought, at the thought of being an _orphan._ I wouldn't be anyone's child anymore. I wouldn't _belong_.

"Dad figured it out."

Sam's voice tore me from my reverie, and I turned to look at him, putting the thoughts of my father away in my minds filing cabinet to bring out for another time.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked as I started walking towards Sam.

"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white," he said. I came up behind him and looked at the article taped to the wall.

"You sly dogs," I heard Dean mutter from behind us. Then he started walking towards us. "Okay, so if we're dealing with a woman in white-"

"Dad would've finished the job and destroyed the corpse," I finished.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "She might have another weakness…"

"No, Dad would wanna make sure. He'd dig her up," Dean insisted, "It say where she was buried?"

Sam shook his head a little. "No, if I were Dad, I'd ask her husband."

"Yeah," Dean said, "hey, while you try to find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up."

I turned on my heel and glared at Dean. "_Please_ don't use all the soap."

Dean laughed. "No promises."

I didn't loosen up on my glare as he continued towards the bathroom.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, "Ris, about what I said earlier, on the bridge-"

Dean interrupted by raising his hand. "No chickflick moments."

* * *

I heard the light click off in the bathroom, and I shot out of my seat on the bed, grabbing the clothes I had and rushing into the bathroom, Dean walking past me and chuckling at my hastiness. I needed to be clean, now. I couldn't take the nasty sewer smell any longer.

Slamming the door behind me, I stripped and jumped into the shower, turning on the heat with minimal cold water. I let the water run over me, wishing it would soothe my constantly-tense muscles, but I knew it wouldn't; it never did. My eyes lit up at the sight of a white soap bar on the edge of a shelf in the shower, and I quickly grabbed it. Thank God; Dean didn't use all of the soap.

I started to lather the soap on, even putting it in my hair. It was all I could do to wash it, with no shampoo in sight. I stood there for a few seconds, thinking as the water began to rinse the soap off. My dad was missing, and though I was trained to cope in situations like this, I couldn't. He could be dead. He could be dead and it would be _my _fault. My fault because I didn't know he was dying, because if I was given this weird, freaky ability and I couldn't tell when my dad was in danger, then what was it for? It would be my fault because I didn't know how to use it, how to control it, how to keep my family safe.

I jumped and slipped a little at the sound of banging on the door, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest.

"Ris! We gotta go! Police are outside!"

My eyes widened and I shut the water off, stepping out of the shower as I did so. Then I pulled my clothes on, all of them sticking to me uncomfortably because of my soaked status, but I had to rush. The police could be in here in any minute. Once I finished, I threw my hair out of my face and yanked open the door, steam wafting into the hotel room.

"Let's go," I said to Sam, nodding to the window in the back of the room.

I ran over to it, carrying my soggy Converse with me and pulled myself through the small space, Sam following after. Then I started towards the parking lot, the asphalt digging into my feet. I heard Sam moving behind me, following closely. I finally came to the corner by the front of the motel room, and I poked my head out, watching the cops make their way into the hotel room.

"They're in," I said to Sam.

I heard him let out a breath of relief. "Alright, we gotta make a run for the Impala."

I nodded to show him that I understood, then said, "On three?"

"Yeah."

"One, two, three!" I whispershouted.

The pain of the asphalt digging into my feet made me cringe with each step, and I felt the skin being ripped from the balls of my feet. I gritted my teeth and continued to run to the Impala, keeping my eyes on the black body of the car. We were close, so close. My hands touched the sleek handle of the passenger side door, and I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.


	4. Chapter 4 - Ep1P3

**So I am so happy because I'm finally past the first episode. You get to see more Ris and Sam interaction, but I was looking through what I've written and realized that there's not a lot of Dean and Ris interaction. It's more because well, there hasn't really been a good place to put a lot of it. The first episode is always the hardest for me, whenever I write for SPN (you won't believe how many times I've written this, deleted it, rewritten it). I hope you all like this chapter.**

**Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to experience part of my imagination (:**

**(I hope that wasn't creepy)**

**I do not own Supernatural.**

* * *

**C-H-A-P-T-E-R**

**4**

_Maryse: 12_

_Sam: 18_

_Dean: 22_

_I kicked my legs back and forth under the table and stuffed another spoonful of Frosted Flakes into my mouth, listening to my dad and brother go at it again on the other side of the room. Dean sat beside me. I felt him staring at me, watching at how I reacted to the situation. Dad and Sam had been fighting more often than not lately, and Dean knew I didn't handle it well. I'd told him a few weeks ago when the fights became more frequent. I'd told him I knew that Sam wanted to go to college but that I was scared of him leaving us, that I was scared Dad would start hating Sam and kick him out. Of course, Dean had told me Dad wouldn't do that; Dad would never hate Sam. But with the way they were acting now, I was almost positively sure that Dad _did_ hate Sam._

_I finally put my spoon down, Dean's worried stare becoming too much. I looked up at him. "Dean, I'm fine," I said, already used to using the lie._

_He nodded, and I knew he didn't believe me. At that moment, I'd wished I'd never told him about my fears; he didn't need to worry about me. _

_Suddenly, I heard stomping footsteps pass me, and my gaze lifted from Dean's towards the door where Sam stood. "If you walk out that door," Dad said from behind me, his voice loud and quivering with rage, "don't you _ever_ come back!"_

_My eyes widened and began to fill with tears as I realized that my nightmare was coming true. Sam sneered at Dad, his decision clear to us as he turned to the door, holding his duffel on his shoulder. He opened it forcefully and exited, slamming the door behind him. I couldn't help the tears that had begun to fall, and I turned to Dean, my heart feeling as if it had shattered. I reached up to clutch my chest, a sob building up in my throat as I watched my father walking out the front door. Was he leaving too? Where was he going?_

_"Come here, Tiger," Dean said, moving towards me._

_I could tell he was upset also, hurt like I was. He pulled me into a hug and I sobbed. My brother left. My big brother left us. He wouldn't want to talk to us ever again. He hated us._

* * *

"Were you crying?"

My head whipped to the side to look at Sam. "_What?_" I asked, my tone a little snappy.

"Were you crying?" Sam asked again, sliding his eyes from the road and towards me.

My face quickly hardened and I narrowed my eyes. "_No_," I answered, "Keep your eyes on the road and shut up."

I heard Sam chuckle a little, and he turned back to look at the road as he drove. I pulled the visor down and looked at my reflection. My cheeks were puffy and my blue eyes were glossed over with unshed tears. I'd had no idea I'd been crying in the shower, but even if I had, I would've never admitted it, not even to my brothers, _especially _not to my brothers. Crying was a big no-no for me.

"You've been around Dean too much," Sam said as I quickly threw the visor back up, "You act just like him."

I rolled my eyes at his statement.

"Either that or you're PMSing."

I turned in my seat and glared at him once more. He did not just say that. You don't just . . . tell a teenager girl that she's acting like she's PMSing. "Rude," I said, letting out a deep breath and turning my eyes back to the road as well.

He scoffed. "You know, Ris? I've missed teasing you."

A small smile spread its way across my face at that as we pulled off into the long driveway of Joseph Welch's house. Whether I would admit it or take his teasing any better than I did or not, I'd missed him teasing me too.

The Impala came to a stop a little ways away from Mr. Welch's house, and Sam started to get out when he noticed I hadn't moved. "Aren't you coming?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Uh-uh, I'm gonna get Dean out of that station," I answered, turning to look at him. He grinned back at me, knowing my plan. Fake 911 call. Always a good enough distraction, and this town was small enough for all of the police officers having to leave the station.

* * *

The phone started ringing and I looked at Sam as he pulled it out of his pocket, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. It was now dark out, and we were heading to Constance's old house, where she was buried.

"Put it on speaker," I said.

He answered the phone and did as I asked, Dean's voice immediately coming through the speakers. "Fake 911 call. I don't know, Sammy, that's pretty illegal."

I grinned. "You're welcome," Sam and I said at the same time.

"We gotta talk," Dean said.

"Tell me about it," Sam replied, "The husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. She's buried behind the old house, so that would've been Dad's next stop."

"Sammy, would you just shut up for a second?" Dean said. I snickered. That was twice today Sam had been told to shut up.

But he continued anyway. "I just can't figure out why he hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho," Dean answered. I froze. Dad left Jericho, which meant he was probably chasing something else. Or something was chasing him. I tried to push those thoughts away and focus on the problem at hand: sending Constance to wherever she needed to go.

"What?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, how do you know?" I asked.

"I've got his journal."

"What? He doesn't go anywhere without that," I responded, my eyebrows furrowing.

"Well he did this time," Dean said, sounding slightly worried or frustrated. I couldn't tell.

Sam sighed a little. "What's it say?"

"Sam old ex-marine crap when he wants to let us know where he's going."

I was the one to sigh this time. "Coordinates."

"Where to?" Sam asked.

"Not sure-" Dean started but was cut off by me.

"Sam!" I shouted, my eyes widening at the sight of Constance in front of us. We were about to hit her, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to find out what would happen if we did.

The phone call forgotten, Sam slammed on brakes and I threw my hands out in front of me to keep myself from slamming my head on the windshield. The braking distance wasn't too far, thankfully, with Dean keeping everything in order for the Impala, including the brakes, but we'd still hit Constance. My wrists ached though, from the impact of my hands slamming against the dash. The Impala rocked back, and I let myself collapse onto the leather seat, letting out a breath.

"You alright?" I asked Sam, but before he could respond, an eerie voice came from the back seat.

"Take me home."

I froze, and the car suddenly grew ice cold. Tell me again why we didn't keep salt up here? Sam was completely still also, looking at Constance through the rearview mirror. I took a glance at the mirror, seeing cold, blue eyes, pale skin, and black hair framing her. She certainly looked ghostly.

"Take. Me. Home," she ordered once more.

I gritted my teeth and spun to glare at her. "One, I'm a girl, and I don't swing that way," I said, "and two, Sam here, pretty sure he's faithful. We're not gonna take you home."

My door suddenly swung open, and I turned around to close it, but a force pushed me out of the car and I rolled off the road, which oh-so-conveniently was next to a steep hill. I felt myself tumbling, falling, leaves and twigs poking and scratching me all the way down. I cried out with each poke and stab, closing my eyes so I wouldn't get sick with each twist and turn of my body. At one point, I felt my foot get caught on something, probably a root, and my body got thrown off its sideways course, tumbling the rest of the way down in somersaults.

When I finally reached the bottom, I laid there for a few seconds, taking deep breaths. I had to calm myself and steady my breathing before I tried to stand up. I took a few seconds, counting to ten and listening to my deafening heartbeats, and then I sat up, groaning a little in pain from the obvious bruising on my arms and sides. I felt my ankle throbbing, and my clothes stuck to me even more now. A cool fall breeze whipped past me, and I was suddenly glad I had grabbed that flannel.

I needed to catch up to Sam; he was in trouble.

Keeping thoughts of protecting my family in my head, I stood up, gritting my teeth harshly at the achy and sharp pains that surged in my body. I had no idea how I was going to get to Constance's old house fast enough, but I had to. I turned my gaze towards the hill that I needed to climb and let out a breath, starting up the steep slope. This was going to hurt.

I kept climbing though, trying to build up speed by grabbing on different roots and plants to pull myself upwards. I could see the top, the open blackness of the night sky so close. I was near the road. As I continued to think of Sam, adrenalin began to pump through my system, and the pain was subsiding. I was so close, so close.

Finally, I reached the top, the open space of the road even more airy than the dense forest behind me. I didn't care though, as long as I was past that hill. I looked to my left, and then to my right, not seeing anyone coming, and then I started at a full sprint in the direction of the old Welch residence. I had to make it. I had to.

The now-familiar feeling of gravel digging into my feet returned as I cursed myself for not putting my Converse on. They had just been soaked, and they smelled horrid. Dean was already going to have a fit that they were in his car. We were gonna have to stop somewhere and grab me another pair of knockoffs, which sucked because that one pair of Converse were the actual thing, not some Walmart brand that just happened to look the same.

I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my chest and my breathing became ragged as I ran. Sam. He was being hurt. I needed to hurry.

Shaking my head a little, I continued to sprint, pushing myself harder with the thought of my brother being in trouble. _Come on, Ris, _I told myself, _Just a little further._

I let out a relieved breath when the house came in sight, and I ran towards it, my whole body aching. My relief was soon wiped away, though, at the image of the Impala ramming into the front of the house, breaking the walls and creating a lot of damage. Worry and fear ran deep in my bones, and I let out a terrified shriek. "Sam!" Had he been driving? Had Constance controlled the car? Was Sam okay? What was even going on?

My feet were pounding against the dirt driveway and then were suddenly on the splintering wood of the porch. "Sam!" I cried, and I heard Dean do the same as we rushed towards the Impala.

I reached the car and yanked the passenger-side door open, Dean leaning in. I heard Sam mumbled something, but Dean cut him off with, "Can you move?"

Sam said something and then Dean started helping him out, me holding the door open and looking around the room for Constance. She appeared across the room and picked up a picture frame, staring at it. "Guys," I started as Sam clambered out of the car with Dean's help and Dean shut the door.

They both looked up to see Constance. She glared at us, and if looks could kill, we'd all be dead ten times over right now. She threw the picture frame she was holding at the floor, and a dresser flew from across the room towards Sam, Dean, and I, pinning us to the Impala. I cringed at the sharp feeling in my rips induced by the speed of the dresser, and turned to glare at Constance. Was I not hurt enough already? Irritated, I struggled against the dresser, trying to push it off of us, but it wasn't budging.

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker, and water started trickling down the stairs. Two small children appeared at the top of the stairs, and Constance's glaring countenance ceased as she stared at the two. "You've come home to us, Mommy," the two children said, and I grimaced. Of course, the creepy children had to make an appearance.

The children were quickly next to Constance and they hugged her. The next thing I knew, the room was overwhelmed by flashes of blue, black, and a fiery red color, and the sound of Constance screeching in terror and pain. It was quite obvious where she was going. The flashes and screaming ending quickly with the sound of a drain as the water disappeared along with Constance and her children.

I let out a sigh of relief as the pressure on the dresser let up and Sam, Dean, and I released ourselves from its hold.

* * *

"Rissy . . ."

"Hey, Tiger, wake up."

I opened my eyes slightly to see both of my brothers turned around from the front seat and looking at me. "Huh?" I mumbled.

"I gotta go," Sam said to me, "I didn't really wanna leave without saying bye."

A sleepy smile stretched across my lips and I lifted my head a little off of the seat. "Bye, Sammer," I said quietly.

He laughed a little. "Bye, Ris."

Smiling a little, I let myself drift back to sleep, knowing I would regret not being completely awake to say goodbye to him when I woke up tomorrow, but being too tired and in pain to care. Nightmares began to invade my dreams, nightmares of demons with bright, sinister yellow eyes and malicious grins. He wanted to kill me; he wanted me out of the way.

I woke up sweating, knowing I hadn't even been asleep for a minute. A bad feeling erupted in the pit of my stomach, and I shrugged it off as being sick from being out earlier while I was soaked. Maybe I had a fever?

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" He looked at me through the rearview mirror.

"Can you turn the AC on? I'm burning up back here," I told him, wiping the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand. It felt like it was getting hotter by the second. Hot. Hotter. Hotter. I felt like I was suffocating.

"It's not that hot, Ris," he said, his eyebrows furrowed.

I shifted where I sat, my face and arms feeling as if I'd stuck a hot poker on them. That feeling returned to the pit of my stomach, and my breathing grew slightly labored. "Dean," I said, my voice cracking a little. I felt the Impala slow, but I couldn't keep my focus on it. All I could think about was heat, burning. A tear rolled down my cheek as a feeling of loss, hopelessness, desperation — either all or one, I couldn't tell — crashed into me. "Dean, Sam. Something's . . ." I clutched my head, letting out a sob. "Not right. Something's wrong. I-"

I felt the car make a quick U-turn as Dean drove faster, probably going dangerously above the speed limit. The feelings amplified to almost unbearable levels as we approached the apartment complex, and the Impala suddenly slammed to a stop. I looked out the window, my breathing now ragged and my hands trembling in a way I'd never experienced.

Sam's apartment was up in flames.


End file.
